This. This is what she missed. This was worth fighting for. Kids played. Groups mingled and brought out picnics. Ian told Garrison a story about a sea monster he was sure he saw at least twice. June and her friends sipped strawberry wine and gossiped in the afternoon sun. How had the town lost this market day tradition? What else needed reviving?

  Lark excused herself from her friends and headed to Mr Quade’s store. With the coins she acquired today, she was able to buy some more groceries. She was particularly excited about the maple syrup she bought to go with some oats and dried fruit. Breakfast tomorrow would be delicious. She had just enough left to buy a ream of paper she would use for seedlings and a pair of soft flannel pajamas. She said a silent thank you to her grandfather for planting tulips along the road all those years ago. Sleeping in pajamas was a luxury she hadn’t had in years.

  She said good bye to her grandmother and her friends. She gave Martha an especially tight hug. “Thank you for what you did today,” Lark said to her old teacher.

  “I’m ashamed we didn’t question it until now!” Martha said. Perhaps you are waking us all up.

  Ian promised to call tomorrow, and Lark said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Jacobson. Garrison volunteered to help push the cart as far as the Bly farm. He used his magic again, and it rolled, seemingly by itself a few feet in front of them as they walked. Lark saw the people take notice as they left the square. Mages of Garrison’s talent weren’t common in small towns, and those people who had learned some magic skills usually didn’t waste their energy on something that could be done by hand, like pushing a cart. But, Garrison, much like Lark’s father, wasn’t interested in how everyone else did things.

  Once they passed his farm, Garrison said goodnight, and Lark pushed her empty cart home. April and James ran to greet her when she entered the yard. James seemed alarmed at first but calmed down when he saw it was just Lark and not a villain coming to destroy his home. She pulled the cart into the barn and parked it in one of the two empty stalls. Thud walked by with a mouse in his mouth, paying her no mind. Good boy.

  Inside the cottage, Boon purred and rubbed his tiny body against her ankles until she scooped him up and put him on the counter. He inspected her groceries, paying close attention to the wrapped packet of fresh fish she had traded to Mr Coffman for a bouquet of tulips for his wife.

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  Lark grinned. Mr Wheeler had been wrong. The townsfolk had needed flowers.

  After putting away most of her groceries, she cracked an egg in a bowl and whisked it. Then, she spread a bit of flour on a plate with some salt and herbs. After dredging the fish in the egg and flour, she laid it on a hot skillet and enjoyed the delightful sizzle as it hit the butter. While that cooked, she rinsed some greens and diced up some garlic. She added this to the pan when the fish was almost done.

  She pulled out two of her grandmother's nice plates and plated the fried fish and greens to one, and to the other she pulled out a second pack from the fishermen at the market. This one had bits of scraps in it. She put a nice scoop of this on a plate for Boon. She took both plates to the table and she and Boon enjoyed a lovely dinner.

  By this time, the evening had grown quiet and golden. The last of the sunshine dipped behind the trees, and the lines of the leaves softened against the sky. She took another plate of fish out to Thud, who hesitated for only a moment before devouring the treat. Lark stroked his ample back as he ate. His fur was courser than Boon’s, but he wasn’t as dusty as he had initially been. He even looked up at her with an expression that wasn’t disgusted as she stood to leave.

  James was coaxing April into their den of branches to the secret roost for the night. And after circling Lark’s feet a couple of times, getting a little pet goodnight, and getting distracted by a bug, she hopped up next to the rooster and fluffed up contently.

  Lark grabbed a bucket of water from the well as she went back inside. She filled the kettle and put it on the still hot stove before starting a fire in the fireplace. She needed to get the room nice and warm. It was bath time.

  The washtub, which she had cleaned out that morning, sat in the back corner of the room. She moved it near the fire and began filling it with water heated on the stove. When it was full, and steaming hot, she stripped off her shirt, chemise, trousers, and drawers and eased her body into the warm water. She let out a long sigh.

  She scrubbed her body from head to toe, and washed her hair. She soaked in the tub until the water was cool. She dried herself off and pulled on her new nightshirt. The flannel was soft against her skin. She hugged her arms around her body and wiggled with delight.

  She took a few minutes to wash and rinse her shirt and undergarments and hang them to dry. She left the water in the tub, she had a use for it tomorrow. She used the last of the heat from the stove to make some chamomile tea. She took the tea, the lamp, and a book from the bookcase and headed to bed.

  The lamp cast a cozy glow in the small room, giving her enough light to read by, but leaving the corners of the room in darkness. The tea was warm and soothing after such a long day, and the book, a collection of short stories, was just what she needed. It had been a good day.